Sammy Davis Jr.
By Christopher J. Bradley
(c)2003

Sammy Davis,
You stepped across the color line,
And hugged Nixon.
Was the hug returned?

You are remembered today,
In the pages of the New York Times,
A Legend For Your Time,
A star crossed artist,
Who will besmirch,
Each of us,
As the sands permit.
We are here for you,

We are here like the pheasants on a winters morning.
Ripe for the picking,
Of a huntsman's dog.